72 Hours
by MedliSage
Summary: Of course Mikleo was reading during those three days. What else would he be doing?


"This is a very natural reaction," Lailah says. "I'm sure Sorey-san will be up and back to his usual self in two or three day's time, and his fever will be gone by then, too."

"I see." This, apparently, is all Mikleo thinks on the matter. At least, that's all he speaks. Lailah continues to look at him, but Mikleo's gaze remains firmly fixed on Sorey, whom lays asleep on the bed.

"Mikleo-san," Lailah continues, still failing to get his full attention, "would you like me to show you around the city? Moreover, there are other things that I should explain…"

"That's alright." Mikleo then pulls a chair over from the side of the room, bringing it next to the nightstand. "I'm a bit tired, so if you don't mind, I think I'd rather remain here. Besides, it would be unfair if I got to hear the whole story before Sorey. Perhaps I'll read a book."

Lailah smiles, holding in a giggle. "Alright. Well then, I'll leave you with… your reading."

When she closes the door behind her, Mikleo scoots the chair next to Sorey's bed.

* * *

The first day, Mikleo really does read. Sorey's inn room, thankfully, has a small shelf assorted with some various literature. Most of them are about the history of Lady of the Lake, or about the ruins located in or around the city; things that, normally, Mikleo would read with fervor and then retain nearly everything he'd read.

Now, though, as he flips the page of his book, he finds himself unable to recall most of what had been in the previous paragraph.

For the umpteenth time, he looks up Sorey. And for the umpteenth time, he finds Sorey has not moved an inch. His chest still rises and falls at a steady rhythm. One, two, three… Nearly three second inhales and exhales. Which meant he was probably wholly relaxed and fine.

Still, though, Mikleo puts his book on the nightstand, and then leans forward and places two fingers on Sorey's wrist, and one hand lightly on his chest - for accuracy's sake. _Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump._ A normal pace.

For the twelfth time - Mikleo knows this is the twelfth time, because he's been checking once every thirty minutes - he moves his hand from Sorey's wrist and up to his forehead, brushing his bangs away with a feather-light touch before placing the back of his hand against Sorey's forehead. His temperature had gotten a little warmer.

Mikleo takes the hand towel he procured earlier from one of the drawers and runs his hand over it, and in an instant it's heavy with cool water. Carefully, he places it on Sorey's forehead again.

For the next few minutes, Mikleo watches him. As Sorey remains rather motionless, save for his breathing, Mikleo allows his heavy eyes to move to the clock on the wall.

...It had been a rather long day.

He stands up, quietly moving his chair away from the bed, but not before taking the pillow on it. He then puts it on the floor next to the bed and lays down. And - just to be safe, of course - he reaches up and gently pulls on Sorey's hand, hanging it off the bed so as to hold it. Just in case he needs anything.

* * *

The second day, not so much reading gets done.

Mikleo tries. But it's uninteresting, and, well, it wouldn't be fair if he got ahead in Sorey in knowledge about the ruins around here, and whatnot. And Sorey's unkempt bedhead, bangs falling about whichever way whenever he turned his head, was much more entrancing - even if Mikleo was only looking to make sure he was sleeping well.

After a round of checking Sorey's pulse, breathing, and temperature, Mikleo finds he can't move his hand from the other's wrist to get the towel. His gaze moves down and he realizes it's because he's no longer feeling the underside of Sorey's wrist, but instead his hand lays on top of Sorey's. Their fingers are more or less weaved together, in a loose but firm hold. Mikleo's not sure if he perhaps did this subconsciously, or if Sorey did, or, perhaps, if it was both of them. He decides to not allow himself the time to think on it - otherwise he's probably going to end up needing to check his own pulse soon - so slowly he tries to untangle their fingers, twisting his wrist to try to loosen himself out. Yet Sorey seems to be holding him firmly in place - Mikleo glances up at his face, though, and he's still fast asleep, so it must just be the position.

But Mikleo doesn't want to try and force this and wake him, of course. He tries to reach the towel with his other hand, but to no avail.

Quietly, he slides off of the chair, lowering into a kneeling position on the floor before scooting closer to the nightstand. Eventually, he's able to reach the towel, and after dampening it again, he places it on Sorey's forehead.

His eyes wander back to their hands. Mikleo had, naturally, felt Sorey's hands before, but not quite like this. Now, he has time to realize how _warm_ Sorey's hand is, and Mikleo has a feeling it's not so much because of the fever. He has the time to feel the little callouses on the edges of his palm, and where the skin is soft in the middle. He has time to realize that their hands seem to fit together too neatly, how Sorey's fingers fill the gaps in between Mikleo's perfectly, as if they were crafted for each other.

This time, Mikleo knows he's the one holding on a bit tighter.

* * *

The third day comes without Mikleo realizing the second one ended.

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is that the comforting warmth of Sorey's hand is still holding his own. The second thing he notices is how much his neck and shoulders ache.

Mikleo slowly lifts his head off the bed and sits upright, muscles screaming at him as he tries to roll the kinks out of his shoulders. His knees hurt too and his feet are asleep, but as he thinks he feels Sorey's hand tighten a bit around his own, he doesn't really care about any of his discomfort.

With his free hand he reaches up and takes the now dry cloth off of Sorey's pillow - it had fallen, because at some point during the night Sorey had turned onto his side - and returns it to the nightstand. He feels Sorey's forehead - better than it's been, but still a little warm.

Only because he feels like his legs will fall off if he doesn't, Mikleo stands up, slowly and steadily. He keeps his hand intertwined with Sorey's, but it does shift a bit in his movement. And immediately after it does, Mikleo feels a small tug as Sorey half-mumbles something unintelligible.

"Sorey?" Mikleo whispers. There's no response, save for what Mikleo thinks is a light squeeze on his hand.

He sits himself on the side of the bed. After all, something might be wrong. And he's so sore, surely a minute won't bother him.

"...Sorey?" Mikleo repeats, even quieter. He brings his free hand to Sorey's chest - everything normal.

He feels another light pull on his hand, again accompanied by a short, almost inaudible mumble of something.

Mikleo's eyes move to the bed. It _did_ look particularly comfortable at this moment in time.

A few minutes wouldn't hurt.

Slowly, he lowers himself next to Sorey, being sure to keep their hands together. A quiet sigh of content escapes him as he closes his eyes a moment, his body sinks into the sheets.

When he opens them again, it starts to hit him that this bed really isn't meant for two people. He's close to Sorey; close enough that parts of their bodies touching here and there, close enough that he can take in his scent - he still smells like books and his house at Izuchi.

Sorey mumbles something again, and maybe this time Mikleo could have understood what he was saying if he had been focusing, but instead his eyes catch on Sorey's lips, how he can see each little movement they make.

"Sorey, what is it?" Mikleo asks softly, tearing his gaze away.

Sorey tugs on him again; this time hard enough that it pulls Mikleo a bit closer. Sorey's free arm gets caught uncomfortably in between them, and with lethargic movements, Sorey slides it up Mikleo's waist, draping it over him.

It's an action that makes Mikleo's heart nearly jump out of his chest, and at the same time sends a wave of calm over him. Sorey's hold is secure and warm, and his arm seems to fit around him as perfectly as their hands fit together.

At this point, his mind is running almost at the pace of his heart. Why was Sorey being like this? Mikleo had seen him act a bit off when he was tired, or talk in his sleep, but nothing quite like this. Was it the fever? Was this a way of saying thank you? ...Or something else?

Mikleo hopes that whatever it is, it's the same thing that's making him scoot further into Sorey's hold.

"Sorey," Mikleo finds himself saying quietly, "even if you're the Shepherd, things will be the same between us… right?"

He's not sure why exactly he asked the question. Sorey is asleep, or, at best, mostly asleep, and Mikleo knows from all these years that trying to talk to Sorey when he's even half-asleep is like talking to a wall.

So he's very sure that when Sorey pushes his head forward, his lips brushing against Mikleo's forehead, that it's just some kind of random sleep movement.

And he's really hoping Sorey doesn't remember any of this. Especially when he tilts his head up and presses a quick kiss to Sorey's mouth.

* * *

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

do tenzoku even sleep. i'm not done with zestiria yet... iirc they don't need to eat but? well. i'm sure they get tired right…

anyway. uh. yep. just smth quick to get it off my chest. i love these two so much wtf

thank you very much for reading!


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